


Falling Away

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a cost.  He could see it now, stretching far in front of him, like he never had before.  He was high above it, and down it went below into the mist and the green earth of a foreign land.  Maybe this all made sense, that he was here by himself, falling forward and down over the edge, about to become a nomad with no place of his own and no one left to comfort him.</p><p>Not quite no one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Away

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ and _Captain America: Civil War_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for language)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, my darlings, _Civil War_ was amazing. I loved it. And, in response to the few people who had so kindly asked, here is a one-shot post-movie featuring Steve/Sharon. I've dabbled lightly in the pairing once or twice, but this is my first real attempt at it.

Steve never imagined he would end up here.

But here he was.

He stood in a room in a palace, overlooking the African nation of Wakanda.  The window stretched the length of the wall, so clear and unsullied that he could almost believe it wasn’t there, that there was nothing between him and the green rainforest and sharp mountains and the fog covering it all and the gray sky beyond that.  He was up high, so the view was breathtaking.  However, it was also slightly disconcerting.  More than slightly.  He was here as a guest of King T’Challa, and while the generous man had offered his home and his hospitality to Steve for as long as he wanted it, he knew he wouldn’t be staying.  Not that he knew where he would be going once he left.  He was still wanted by the US government (and potentially other governments – he hadn’t kept abreast of the latest in political posturing and calls for his arrest and whatever else was going on), and he couldn’t bring that sort of heat to the innocent people here.  Wakanda was nothing he’d ever fathomed it would be.  The reclusive nation was brimming with beauty, with wonderful, hard-working folks, with technology that would make Tony look twice.  It was small but powerful.  T’Challa had rather boldly declared that the world and its factions, well-intended or not, could try to breach his kingdom’s borders and come after Steve and Bucky.  Steve didn’t want them to try.  Enough blood had already been shed.

He sighed, closing his eyes.  He was sore and exhausted.  He hadn’t been sleeping much.  Not for a while, when he really thought about it.  Before they’d found Bucky.  Before Lagos.  All the way back to Ultron, maybe, and maybe even back to DC.  His life had been in continual upheaval since…  “Forever,” he whispered, and he couldn’t stop a bitter, broken laugh from spilling from his lips.  He leaned forward, leaned into that seeming nothingness of the window, and for just a split second, he felt like he was tipping over the edge and falling.  It didn’t last more than just that second because the serum made his senses too sharp and too perfect for them to be tricked more than that.  His forehead touched the glass, cool and smooth, and he let it bear his weight.  It was too hard to do anything else.  He hurt.  He hurt so much.  It was down deep in him, in his bones that were still rattling from Tony hitting him, in his blood that still felt cold and thin from watching the video Zemo had shown them, in his heart that was too broken to beat right.  His wounds were healing, of course.  That was another nice thing about the serum.  No matter how damn badly he was beaten and battered, he could always get back up and keep fighting.  Didn’t make it hurt any less, though.  Not the tender bruises all over him.  Not his conscience.

That was the worst part.

He’d made mistakes.  A lot of them.  And he knew – _he knew_ – he’d done the best he could.  It had been an impossible situation in every way conceivable and on all sides.  But telling himself that wasn’t appeasing his guilt, and that look in Tony’s eyes when he’d seen the video of his parents’ murders, teary and full of grief that had never fully been processed and rage that was boiling over…  He knew he’d never forget it for the rest of his days.  He didn’t like to think Zemo had won, but in a way, he definitely had.  Like a snowball rolling and building and becoming an avalanche, the impossible situations had closed in around them all, compounded with stress and emotions and things he and Tony _both_ had been unable to forget or forgive.  Tony’s parents’ murders.  Bucky spending _seventy years_ tortured and brainwashed.  Extenuating circumstances didn’t begin to cover that, but neither did they absolve it.  HYDRA had sown the seeds for this horror seventy years ago, and they hadn’t even realized it.  The irony of it all was so damn staggering.  All the times the evil of this world had tried to kill him, kill Tony…  In the end, the scars were what had almost done them in.  Scars and wounds that had never healed.  So much damage.  He hadn’t killed Tony, would _never_ kill Tony…  But he was afraid Tony would have killed him.  Tony would have murdered Bucky without a second thought.  Had the fight gone differently, it could have ended in a way that would have torn everything apart forever.  As it was, nothing would be the same.  There was no going back.

And, in the end, HYDRA had finally gotten what it wanted.  Captain America was dead.

He wasn’t, though, and he knew he’d still have to keep fighting.  He’d promised Tony that.  That felt to be all he could do, that and apologize.  He’d done both as best he could from where he was.  He turned his head a little against the glass, looking down into the curtains of drifting mist that hid the ground, thinking about the letter he’d just sent.  Tony had probably received it yesterday or the day before.  He smiled a little, picturing just how much Tony would berate him for his old-fashioned approach.  He could practically hear it.  _“Who the hell even writes letters anymore?  Do they even still teach penmanship?  God, look at this.  You know, there’s this little invention called email, Cap.  The wave of the future like twenty years ago.”_   His lips curled in a little grin.

He wasn’t as old-fashioned as Tony thought, though.  Emails could be tracked.  Letters couldn’t, at least not as easily.  He didn’t know what sort of state of mind Tony was in.  He didn’t know anything other than Tony was back at the compound, which was good.  Tony needed that, needed purpose, needed companionship.  But if he was still working for Ross…  He didn’t know if he’d ever trust Tony again.  And he was pretty sure Tony would never trust him again, either.  _Damage._

There was so much of it.  _So much._

Steve let his eyes slip shut anew, focusing on breathing a moment.  He had been doing that a lot lately whenever he had a moment to himself.  After he and Natasha had rescued the others from the Raft, the team had scattered to the wind.  They were _all_ wanted in a sense, but given what he did know of the mess back in the States, the information that had leaked somehow of Bucky being framed and Ross’ less than noble efforts to inter the Avengers without a trial, he had a feeling they’d all be okay.  Clint had gone home to his family, swearing to high heaven that he was never answering a call from Steve again all while offering a hug and handshake.  Wanda…  Steve was worried about her.  He always would be.  But she, too, had gone back to the compound.  He didn’t know much anymore, but he knew Vision would keep her safe.  Lang had likely returned to the West Coast.  Good luck to any cop or agent looking to trap him.  He’d even joked again that living outside the law was somewhat old hat for him.

And Sam was out there.  Sam and Natasha both.  Steve wasn’t sure where they were.  It was best that he didn’t.  He wasn’t concerned about Natasha; no matter what, she knew how to survive.  Sam…  Of everyone, he missed Sam the most.  It had only been a few days since they’d last seen each other, but it felt a lot longer, probably because of how different they both were for the short time that had passed since Lagos.  Well, he was different.  Sam was Sam, and only now was Steve realizing what a constant Sam was in his life.  A constant friend, a constant source of support.  Furthermore, Sam, being Sam, had realized just how much Steve was hurting.  He’d been easy smiles, attempting to erase the pain and shame that they’d all suffered on his account.  He’d been easy assurances, too, promising all would be well.  They’d be together again soon.  Hell, as he’d said, maybe he’d pick up the mantle of Captain America for a while on a small scale.  Don the red, white, and blue and do what he could to protect people.  _“You taught me what it means to do it.  I think I got the chops.  I do everything you do, right?  Just slower.  Besides, if a kid from Queens can fight crime dressed up in a ridiculous spider onesie and keep his identity secret, how hard can it be?”_

It felt good hearing that, that maybe, just maybe, Captain America would survive this. 

Still, he was alone.  In the beginning he thought it’d be okay.  He had Bucky.  _Bucky._   For the first time in more than seventy years, he had Bucky.  But while Sam was Sam, Bucky was…  Steve didn’t know what he was.  All this time, these long two years since HYDRA had fallen and taken SHIELD with it, he’d never let himself really think about this, about what it would actually be like if he and Sam ever found Bucky.  It had been a self-defense mechanism almost because not picturing the aftermath made the pain and disappointment of failing and failing and _failing_ so much easier to handle at the time.  Now he had Bucky back, _finally._   And it wasn’t what he’d hoped it would be.  That wasn’t fair, and the second that bitter thought crawled its way across his brain, he hated it and hated himself for having it.  Bucky had suffered so much, as much a victim as anyone else.  Just as T’Challa had said.  HYDRA had tortured him, twisted him around, made him forget himself.  _“He remembered you.  Your friend, your pal.  Your Bucky.”_   Rumlow’s spiteful, taunting words still made him stop and lose himself in his anger and grief, _still_ weeks after the bastard had spoken them.  As bad as Steve felt for Tony, as much as he regretted his choices there…  He regretted even more that he’d ever let Bucky fall.  Or that he hadn’t let go and fallen with him.

He shuddered through a breath.  This was why he hadn’t let himself stop and think.  It was harder to breathe through the pain when he did, harder and harder.  He’d been ignoring it all, trying to stay strong for Bucky’s sake because if he had doubts…  He couldn’t have doubts.  He had forced himself not to have them when the world had condemned Bucky after Project: Insight had failed.  He had forced himself not to have them for _two years_ , to ignore Natasha’s worry and Sam’s worry and everyone’s general unspoken disdain, to be a champion for Bucky, to fight for the belief that Bucky needed to be saved or at least brought in.  Now Steve had doubts, and he had them in spades.  Bucky was a weapon.  Bucky was the Winter Soldier.  He had triggers and he was splintered by trauma and he was made to murder.  And Steve had been a fool for ever thinking it could be simple.  _Find him.  Bring him back.  I can fix him.  He can answer for what he’s done, but there’ll be compassion.  We can bring him back._ Having Bucky with him, staring at him with blank eyes that still looked nothing like they had back home in Brooklyn when they’d been two boys, two friends, two _brothers_ with the world vast and full of potential and stretched out in front of them…

Steve had no choice but to be honest with himself now.  He’d known it the second Bucky had pumped four bullets into his body and nearly beaten him to death over the Potomac River.  Bucky, the Bucky that he knew and loved, was dead.  This man he’d found in Bucharest who was tentative and uncertain one moment and smiling a familiar smile the next and cold and murderous and vicious the one after that…  This man was someone else.

Still, Bucky was himself enough to know he needed help.  So that was why they’d come here.  Steve had thought by help Bucky had meant therapy of some sort.  Help with the triggers embedded in his brain and the awful memories and the damage.  A new arm and a new life.  But no.  Bucky had meant he wanted to put under again.  He wanted to be _frozen_ again.  Steve couldn’t fathom it.  He’d been so surprised that he’d let that mask of constant support slip.  Bucky wanted what HYDRA had done to him for seventy years.  Suspended animation.  Cryostasis.  How could he _want_ that?  Logically Steve knew that it was likely a source of comfort for Bucky.  On the surface, it was just as he said: it kept him safe and people safe from him until they could find a way to erase HYDRA’s programming.  Below that, though…  Steve wondered how much deep, dreamless sleep was a comfort to him.  It meant he wasn’t being sent out to kill, maim, and destroy.  It meant HYDRA was done with him, that his mission was complete and he could _not_ exist for a bit.

No, it was running away.  It was running away and leaving Steve without him, without the anchor he’d hoped he’d have in Bucky.  Steve didn’t want to be angry, but he was.  He was so angry.  So hurt.  After all he’d done to save Bucky, sacrificed…  Bucky didn’t trust him to help him.  Bucky preferred to go under again than stay awake and face together what he’d done.  And Steve _knew_ it wasn’t that simple, but, God, it felt awful.  Bucky was abandoning him, and Lord knew he _deserved_ to do what he wanted, to have a choice and make it after seventy years spent a slave.  But that choice was devastating.  Bucky was sleeping now, having said his uncertain goodbyes, and Steve was standing here in this room leaning against a window that seemed so invisible that he’d fall.  He was in a foreign nation, a fugitive from his government after seventy years of his own form of servitude and imprisonment.  He’d lost his team, his friends, his _family._   Natasha and Sam.  _Tony._   He’d lost his shield, lost his sense of purpose, lost it all.  _“I lost everyone.”_   That was what Zemo had hissed to him.  Even if Steve had put a stop to it all, stopped himself from killing Tony and stopped Tony from killing him, that part of Zemo’s vengeance had come true.  He was expatriated.  Homeless.  _Alone._

And Peggy was dead.

The damage ran really deep.  He’d put it all behind this wall inside him, a dam to hold back his own hurt and grief, his own doubts and anger, and that wall was cracking.  It was cracking and he couldn’t stop it anymore.  Thirty years – _seventy years_ – of pain was behind that wall.  He’d promised Tony he’d be ready to fight, ready to answer the call if he was needed.  But he wasn’t ready.  He didn’t know who or what he was anymore.  He hadn’t lied in that letter, at least he hadn’t meant to.  He hadn’t lied about himself.  He never had fit in, not as a scrawny, sick kid, not as a super soldier in an army of normal men, and definitely not in this time and place.  Not as an Avenger.  His mother had always told him that to do the right thing sometimes meant standing by yourself.  What was it Peggy had said?  _“Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right…  Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say: no,_ you _move.”_ But there was a cost.  Lord, he knew that now more than he ever had before.  He could _see_ it now, stretching far in front of him, like he never had before.  He was high above it, and down it went below into the mist and the green earth of a foreign land.  Maybe this all made sense, that he was here by himself, falling forward and down over the edge, about to become a nomad with no place of his own and no one left to comfort him.

Not quite no one.

There was a knock at the door to his suite, and Steve opened his eyes.  Surprise slowly rattled through him, and he pushed himself off the window slowly, dizzy given the drop below him and the illusion of leaning over it.  A tiny jolt of apprehension went through him as he turned to the door.  What now?  For a moment, he considered not answering, but whoever it was obviously knew he was here, so there was no point.  He crossed the room, wiping his eyes to get rid of the wetness there and drawing a deep breath to gather the remains of his composure like one pulled threadbare and tattered clothes close to cover oneself.  He opened the door.

He hadn’t known at all what to expect, but this wasn’t it.  “Sharon?”

Sharon stood there with a soft smile and dark eyes and her blond hair loose and wavy on her shoulders.  Dressed in jeans, boots, and a sweater, she looked like she’d been traveling a long time.  She had to have been, to have come from Berlin to Wakanda.  And she looked…  Beautiful.  Soft.  Concerned and uncertain.  “Hi.”

Steve shook his head, flabbergasted.  “What – what are you doing here?”

She hesitated a moment, like she’d been sure she was doing the right thing until now and she was worried she was overstepping her bounds.  Then she donned a firmer smile.  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

That made no sense.  Sharon had responsibilities, duties and important tasks.  She was a CIA agent attached to the Joint Counter Terrorist Center, and they were in the midst of the aftermath of an international crisis.  She couldn’t simply leave that.  And, maybe he didn’t know her all that well, but he was pretty sure she was exceptional at what she did.  Peggy had been.  The idea of abandoning her post to journey all the way here…  That brought to bear another disturbing, paranoid thought.  “Does anyone else know?”

She looked horrified for a second, not so much at the question but the implication.  “No.  No, of course not.  No one knows I came.  No one knows where you are.”

“How did you–”

She smiled a little flirty smile, the sweet one, that one she’d always had for him when they’d crossed paths in the hall outside their apartments in DC two years ago.  It felt like a lifetime had passed since then, since she’d been “Kate”, his neighbor who was a young, pretty nurse with an insomniac aunt and a sunny disposition who was _really_ a SHIELD Special Service agent spying on him – _protecting me_ , he corrected himself – on behalf of Director Fury.  She’d caught his eye then, and not just because she was beautiful and sweet and intelligent.  She had been genuinely nice to him at the time, which, considering how lost and lonely he’d been then, had been extremely welcomed.  Of course, he’d never had the guts to really make a move with her, particularly given how much he’d still been reeling from waking up seventy years in the future with everyone he knew and loved dead or dying.  And, of course, there was the fact that she’d _lied_ to him.  She’d been playing him, acting, so she could keep an eye on him for SHIELD.

It was only now, now that they’d crossed paths again at Peggy’s funeral and spent an afternoon together talking, that he was realizing the sweet compassion and wit and intelligence that he’d seen in her hadn’t been a lie.  She still had that as Sharon and not Kate.  And the things he’d seen in her, that he’d liked about her, all of that was still there.  It had context now, now that he knew she was related to Peggy.  There was no lying to himself; he saw Peggy in her, not at all in her appearance but in her expressions.  Distantly.  Peggy was Sharon’s grandfather’s sister, so the link wasn’t terribly obvious or close.  But he caught a look now and then that reminded him of Peggy, a smirk or a soft smile.  And he could see parts of her that seemed reminiscent of Peggy, something Peggy could have taught her.  How to be noble and sure and how to do the right thing when it mattered.  How to stand up.  Steve recognized those things, because Peggy had helped him learn them, too.

So that little smile of hers immediately put him at ease.  “I am a spy, Steve,” she answered smartly.  “I know how to find information when I want to.  Besides, there are people who still care about you out there.”

He felt like a fool.  “You talked to Sam?”

She gave a little nod, and her smile withered.  “He’s worried.  He’s not the only one.”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you really?”  She wasn’t being patronizing.  She wasn’t analyzing.  She wasn’t trying to pick at his resolve or get at his underlying motivations.  She was just asking.

That was almost enough to break him, and he didn’t think he could answer, so he backed up a bit.  “You…”  He cleared his throat.  “You want to come in?”  She nodded and did so.  He noticed as he shut the door behind her that she had a suitcase.  _A suitcase._   His brow wrinkled in confusion.  “Moving?”

“Staying for a while at least,” she answered.  “With permission of the Wakandan government.”

He shook his head because that was definitely strange considering how isolationist Wakanda.  “I thought King T’Challa wasn’t interested in joining the Task Force or supporting the Accords.”  T’Challa had actually said something to the effect that the governments of the world would face the wrath of his people should they again threaten the innocent and unjustly accused, but Steve wasn’t interested in splitting hairs.

Rolling her suitcase in a little further, Sharon stopped and turned to him.  “He’s not.”  She looked around then, appraising the huge room and futuristic décor and luxury.  “Not what I expected of this place,” she commented.  Then she smiled again.  “But then… I don’t know what I expected.”  Steve didn’t know what to say to that, either.  He was glad to see her, but he really wasn’t in the mood to talk.  Not with Bucky gone from him that morning and the weight of it all bearing down hard.  The silence turned awkward, but Sharon, like Peggy and Natasha, didn’t seem all that troubled by it.  He supposed a life lived in espionage trained one to deal with uncomfortable social settings with remarkable aplomb.  Her eyes did fill with something, though.  Sympathy.  “I’m sorry about what happened with Stark.”

Steve had to bite the soft flesh of his lower lip to keep it still, and he had to battle for a calming breath or two.  He knew how he looked.  Bruised and beat up and shaken to his core with just how close he and Tony had come to killing each other.  “Guess it’s been building these last few years,” he finally remarked, rueful in his tone.  “He and I…  We never saw eye to eye.  Never understood each other.  Sad that it came to this.”

“You two worked together to lead the Avengers and save the world more times than I can count,” Sharon replied.  She came closer on light feet, but he could feel every single, slow step.  “I think you understood each other more than either of you realize.”  Steve looked down before shifting his weight and turning away from the door.  Back to the window and that endless view he went.  He couldn’t take this right now.  “And I think you shouldn’t reduce your friendship and everything you built together to the insanity caused by a vengeful maniac.”

“Which vengeful maniac?” Steve said, his voice cracking.  “Stark?  Bucky?”  _Me?_

“You know which one,” Sharon evenly answered.  A moment of tense silence crawled between them.  Steve looked out the window again, and Sharon was silent and still behind him.  It was awkward and leeching his strength, second by second.  “You should know that Colonel Rhodes is making a strong recovery.  With Stark’s help, he’ll walk again.”

“That’s good.”  It was.  He felt better hearing it.  Rhodey deserved better than what had happened.  More than anyone, he did.

“And the others are safe.  President Ellis is considering making a plea for amnesty for them.”

Again, that was a relief.  “But not me.”

“Not yet.  The bad PR the Accords are getting might help your cause.  But you did raid a federal detention center.”  He could hear her frown.  “That tends to not help win the support of the government, no matter how borderline illegal it was for Sam and the others to be jailed to begin with.”

“I didn’t have a choice _._ ”

“I know.”

“Is that why you came?  To give me a report on Rhodes and tell me I made another mistake?  I appreciate the good news, but the mistake part I already figured.”  She didn’t answer.  Sighing, he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin.  He stared at the fog, the clouds, the green forest and that height below him.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’m not sure I want to go back.”  _I’m not sure I can._  

If that surprised her, she didn’t reveal it.  He kept his eyes on the view, throbbing inside, while the quiet returned.  When he stared hard enough, he could see his reflection.  It was just a hint of his face, of pale skin and blue eyes.  Like a ghost maybe.  “Look, Steve…  I…”  Sharon hesitated now.  “I just…”  Steve finally turned to her, and she smiled sadly.  “When you live a life of playing pretend and lying and keeping things close to your chest, the truth doesn’t always come easy.  But the thing is…  I feel like this is the least I can do.  It’s always the least, I guess.  Getting you back your gear, getting the intel…  It wasn’t good enough then, and it’s not now either.  We follow our orders, do our jobs, but I don’t know anymore…  God, I’m rambling.”  She shook her head, pressing her pink lips together hard as she searched within herself.  “The truth is…  I came because I don’t want you to be alone.”

That was it.  The crack in the damn widened and widened, crumbling the brick and mortar of all his strength and all _his_ lies and all his confidence, and down came the wall.  The flood burst through, and he leaned hard into the glass.  Natasha had said that to him.  Peggy had _promised_ him that. 

_You won’t be alone.  You shouldn’t be alone.  You’re not alone._

“Bucky left,” he ground out around clenched teeth.  The sob was making his throat tight, making it hard to speak, but speak he did because he couldn’t hold it in anymore.  “This morning.  He’s – he gave up.  He’s gone.”

Sharon was at his side instantly, her eyes wide with concern and fear.  “What do you mean?  He’s gone?  He ran?”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the hot burn of tears.  “He’s back down in cryofreeze.  He wanted that.  He left.  Left me.”

He was falling now.  Falling hard.  Falling away.  But he could feel Sharon’s hands curl over his shoulders, and he could feel her confusion, thick and unpleasant at first but then loosening with mounting understanding.  “Steve…”

“I tried for two years,” he gasped, staring down at the fog.  “Two _years._   And I kept thinking if I could just find him, bring him back, we’d have each other.  Him and me.  Everything else the world could take, but we’d have each other again like we always did back home.”  The mist blurred as his eyes welled with tears.  “And I know he thinks he’s doing what’s right.  I know that.  He feels like – like _this_ is the safest thing for everyone.  Sometimes, just in these last couple of weeks, I could see how it wore on him, what he did.  I see it when he looks at me.  He still doesn’t know me, not really, not enough to keep it all under control.  I can’t fault him for wanting to protect me from himself.”

“How much can you sacrifice, though?”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut again against those soft words and pushed against the window.  The glass was so perfect and thick, strong and sturdy, but he knew he could break it if he wanted.  Break it like that dam was breaking inside him, like his _heart_ was breaking, and he’d drown.  He’d fall.  He was sobbing before he realized it, but he clamped down hard.  He’d cried at Peggy’s funeral.  Cried in the stairwell of the Avengers complex after getting the message she’d died.  Cried a few wayward tears when Natasha had come to the church to promise him she was with him.  But he hadn’t cried like this.  Not like what this was about to become.  He didn’t want that, didn’t want to be that weak and broken.  He wanted to soldier on, to fight, but he was _so damn tired._ “I told Tony,” he managed on a ragged breath.  “Couple days ago I told Tony I had faith in people.  That that was what gave me hope, that people are fundamentally good and decent.  This morning, I watched my friend give up on himself.  Give up on me.”

Sharon was shaking her head, but he knew she didn’t know what to say.  “Steve…”

“For a minute back there, even though…  Even though this was all exploding in our faces and getting so out of control, I felt _right_ for the first time in a really long time.  Bucky was there.  Sam.  We had a plan and a team.  I kissed you.”

She nodded then, smiling.  “Yeah, you did.”

“I wanted that.  I wanted it and I took it.  I didn’t want to wait too long again.”

“I know.”

“It felt so good.”

She laughed just a little, rubbing her hand across his shoulders.  “It definitely did,” she said lightly.

“God, Sharon…  Even though we were fighting, I never thought it would come to what it did.  I had faith that Tony would see the truth and Bucky would find himself and we’d find a way to make it through this and make it work because we were friends.”  He swallowed thickly.  His heart was pounding in his chest, pounding hard against his sternum.  He didn’t think he could breathe.  “I was wrong about Tony.  Wrong about Bucky.  Wrong about myself.  So goddamn _wrong_ …”

She argued.  Peggy probably wouldn’t have.  Peggy had always been firmer, stricter, more inclined to let someone suffer with his or her guilt if necessary to learn from his or her mistakes.  Sharon wasn’t like that.  She pulled his shoulder, and he let himself be pulled, let himself be turned from the window.  Her eyes were bright and calm.  “Steve, you did the best you could.  That’s all anyone can ask of you.”  He’d told himself that, over and over again.  He’d told Tony, too.  Apparently he’d been completely out of his mind when he’d written that letter, delusional and drunk on having Bucky back.  On _finally_ reclaiming some part of his life.  “That’s all you should ask of yourself.”

“I gave it all away,” he groaned.  “This wasn’t just about stopping Russian super soldiers!  You don’t know–”

“What?”  She shook her head, and he hotly averted his eyes.  “What?”

“I – I _wanted_ him back so bad that I didn’t let myself see what I was really doing.  I lied to Tony.”

She shook her head.  “You didn’t tell him the truth.  There’s a difference.”

Emphatically, Steve shook his head.  “A lie of omission is still a lie, so I lied.”

“You did it to protect him.”

“No, I did it because it was easier.  And I lied to Bucky.  I told him it was okay, that he was worth it and I’d deal with the consequences.  Well, I can’t deal with the consequences!  I had _no right_ to drag the others into this.  They could have been trapped in that prison forever.  Rhodey may never be the same.  That’s all my fault.  I planted myself like this – like Peggy said.  Like a tree and told everyone they were wrong and I was right.  And I didn’t even let myself doubt for one second that maybe that wasn’t true.”  He shook his head.  “I told Tony the Accords were flawed because the people who call the shots have their own agendas, and I had one.  I had a _huge_ agenda.  I was blinded by it.  And for what?  _For what?_   It didn’t matter!”  The tears spilled down his face, and he wrenched away, leaning into the window anew.  The mist twisted and the distance down seemed immeasurable.  “Don’t you see?  I lost everything to save him, and _he didn’t want to be saved!”_

“Steve, stop.  Stop.”  Sharon turned him around again.  He was too worn to struggle.  Her hands cupped his face and gently forced him to look at her.  “Yeah, you had an agenda.  So did Stark.  You can’t for one second tell me that he didn’t.”  No, Steve couldn’t.  That was very true.  Ironically, it was guilt and pain that had driven both of them, Steve’s over Bucky’s fate and Tony’s over Sokovia’s.  “And just because you had an agenda doesn’t mean you were wrong.  What were you supposed to do?  Stand there and let an innocent man be crucified because of his past crimes?  Let your own government bully you and berate you for doing the job they _created_ you to do?  Surrender your capacity to choose to another oversight agency, just like SHIELD?”  Her touch was tender and her eyes were open and full of compassion.  “You do the best you can for the people you love.  That’s what it means to be human, not perfect.”

Zemo had taunted him about that, about how perfect he was.  The slight hint of green in his eyes.  The minor flaws.  He’d never seen himself as anything other than someone trying to do the right thing.  Serum or no, being a good man was all he’d ever wanted to be.  Right here and right now, years from where he’d started and miles from home, he felt as far from that good man as he ever had. 

She could see it in his eyes.  He knew she could, because he could feel it.  The flood of it all.  The fall from high hopes, from grace, to reality.  To the fact that this had _always_ been an impossible situation.  He couldn’t have backed down.  Neither could Tony.  He’d been dreaming that there could be a happy ending to that, given how stubborn and powerful they both were.  There wasn’t going to be one.  There was just an ending, and not even that in some respects.  Just here and now, so far from where he’d started that he was looking back and wondering how he’d even gotten here.  “I’m so tired,” he whimpered, losing control of his voice, of his lower lip that quivered and his body that trembled.  “I’m so tired.  I can’t fight anymore.”

“So don’t,” she said.  “Don’t fight.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t.  Let it be.  The world doesn’t need Captain America.”

Steve stiffened at that, the shame and pain and anger rising up inside like a tidal wave.  _“That shield doesn’t belong to you.  You don’t deserve it.”_ Tony’s voice, hoarse with pain and so much fury.  _“My father made that shield!”_   The sound of it, falling from his fingers, hitting the concrete with a dull hum.  His shield, tossed like it meant nothing.  He wasn’t sure what it meant now, but that seemed so harsh.  So final.  “I’m not Captain America anymore.”

She was undaunted.  “Fine.  Then the world definitely doesn’t need Steve Rogers right now.”  Steve shook his head and tried to pull from her, but he was losing his nerve.  Losing the strength to stand against the flood and keep his feet beneath him.  She stared in his eyes.  “You deserve to be free a moment.  No shield.  No Avengers.  Just you.”  He didn’t know who he was without any of that.  He didn’t know.

She did, though.  She’d seen it, back in their apartment building in DC.  She’d seen the good man who laughed at her jokes and offered her his washing machine and wanted nothing more than a friend.  “You did the _best_ you could,” she said again.  “That’s all anyone can ask.”

She drew him into a hug, and he went.  He went because he had nothing left.  And the second he did, the last of his restraint snapped.  That calm, confident mask disappeared.  The one he wore for the Avengers when a mission went poorly.  For Tony when he’d told him that they weren’t what was wrong with the world in Sokovia before they’d gone to battle Ultron.  For Wanda when she’d needed reassurance that mistakes happen when you fight evil, but not fighting at all was far worse than any mistake you could possibly make.  For Natasha when she was compromising to keep them together rather than let this war tear them apart.  For Sam every moment of every day on their endless hunt for the Winter Soldier when the pain and trouble wore at them both so much that there was no hope to be found.  That mask – _Captain America_ – just fell away, and left him raw and aching and unprotected beneath it.

He gasped a sob into her shoulder.  Her hands were soothing on his back, rubbing in gentle circles, as he cried and she hushed him.  “He left me,” he whimpered again.  _Tony.  Bucky._ So much damage and so much betrayal.  It went around and around.  “I couldn’t – I – I wanted to say somethin’, but I couldn’t stop it.  Couldn’t.”

“I know,” she comforted.  “I’m so sorry.”  He pressed his fingertips into her back, clinging tightly.  It was almost involuntary, how the contact was pushing him and pushing him deeper into this.  “It’s alright.  Let it out.  Let it go.”  Her hand went up to thread through his hair and keep his face buried into the sweet warmth of her neck.  “Let _him_ go.”

Steve did.  He couldn’t stop himself now.  He cried hard, the way he _should_ have cried when he’d woken in the future and lost everything and when Bucky had come back only to nearly kill him and when Peggy had died.  When Tony had turned on him.  He cried because he had nothing else, nothing left.  Not his team or his friends.  Not his family.  Not his shield, even.  The tears came, the flood that was spilling from that shattered dam, and they were hot and salty on his lips and stinging in his eyes.  She simply held him and let him cry.

Finally, when he was through and his sobs were reduced to halting breaths and sniffles and his eyes were throbbing with it all and he felt pleasantly hollow inside, she let him lean away.  She smiled tenderly, wiping her thumbs through the tracks of wetness on his face.  “Now you’re okay,” she said.

He choked on a laugh.  He was embarrassed, but not enough to look away from her.  Not enough to hide or pull back.  “Thank you,” he finally whispered.

She kissed him.  This kiss was different from the first, filled more with meaning and intent than simply a fun, exhilarating moment.  It was tender but no less passionate, and when she let him up for a breath, he found he was on the bed.  She was tugging his jacket off, his shoes, pulling off her boots and her coat.  Dimming the lights.  “Sharon…”

“Shhh,” she murmured, pulling the duvet back on the bed to get them both under it.  Then she pulled him close.  He hesitated a moment, stiff and rigid with the lingering pain and so much uncertainty, but again the lulling promise of warmth and peace and _contact_ was too much for him to ignore.  She guided him into her arms, letting him bury his face into her neck, weaving her hand again through his hair and lightly caressing it.  “Sleep.”

 _Not yet._   He leaned up after a moment to kiss her again, to have this, to take it because he wanted it and it was something his own and she was offering it with both arms open.  And he asked because he was afraid now.  Of falling with nothing and no one to catch him.  “Will you please stay?  You said you would for a little while, but…”  His voice failed him for a moment.  “Please.  Please stay with me.”

Her eyes searched his, and he knew that fear and desperation was there and undisguised, more uncontained than it had ever been.  “I quit the Task Force,” she admitted after a beat of silence.  She bit her lip and shook her head.  “I quit the CIA, too.”

He couldn’t help his surprise.  “What?  Why?”

“It didn’t feel right, knowing what I know.  I don’t want to work for a government that would tear people apart like this, that would hunt down an innocent man and pit friend against friend.  They wanted to force you to give up your freedom, treat you like a weapon only they could shoot.  Sometimes…  Sometimes doing a lesser evil to achieve a greater good is okay.  At least I used to think it was, but now…  I’m not sure anymore.  Not after SHIELD.  It still keeps me up sometimes.”  She swept her thumb over his lower lip.  “It keeps me up worrying about what they did with the information I gave them on you.”

He shook his head.  “Sharon, you couldn’t have known.”

“Doesn’t matter.  I don’t want to do it again, not ever again.  I could have been a part of an innocent man’s death.  I don’t want to live wondering if the next target is really a target or someone caught in the way.”  Steve settled back down against her.  He was too exhausted to think about that, how living with their mistakes was the burden they all shared, the price they paid no matter which side they were on.  The cost of doing what needed to be done.  Vast and unavoidable.  “I know it’s not as black and white as I want it to be, as it should be…  But I’d rather follow the lead of someone I trust, and that’s you, no matter where you or where you’re going.  Shield or no.”

_“That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run from a fight…  I’m following him.”_

_“I don’t want you gone.  We need you, Cap.”_

Steve smiled against her.  She stroked his hair again.  It was quiet, easier breaths and calm hearts.  She did speak again though it took some time, and her voice was soft.  “And it’s not just that.  It’s…”  Her breathing picked up, and emotion twisted her tone.  “Back in DC, I…  I knew you were alone.  I knew you were suffering.  I was watching day by day, week by week, month by month, so I knew.  I didn’t help you, didn’t interfere.  And I justified it to myself, that I was doing my job.  Following my mission objectives.  Spying on you, like you said back in London.”  He could feel her weak smile in his hair.  “I was wrong to dress it up, because even back then I knew I was failing at something far more important than my mission.  You wanted to know if Peggy knew, and I told you I couldn’t tell her, but not just because I didn’t want her to have to lie to you.”  Steve closed his eyes against the fresh sting of tears.  “I didn’t want her to realize that I was failing at doing the right thing.”

“Sharon,” he whispered, clutching her tighter.

Her voice shook again.  “Peggy never talked about you much, but she told me once that you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders.  You carried it alone and you carried it for everyone.  And I could see you were falling under that weight.  Day in and day out, I could see it, and I _never_ helped you.”  She reached down, sliding her fingers up his chin to prompt him to lift his face again.  “So I came here.  It’s crazy and dangerous but I came and I’m staying because you deserve all the help you can get.  And I owe you this, for the dozens and dozens of nights I knew you were going back to your apartment lonely and hurting to grieve by yourself…  I can’t let that happen again.  Not ever again.  I have to do what’s best for you now.”  Her eyes shone with openness, with hope.  “Please let me stay?  For as long as you’ll have me.  Please, Steve.”

He kissed her hard, heart thrumming now and pain silenced, and she grabbed him and pulled him on top of her, keeping his mouth to hers and her fingers in his hair and her legs around his hips.  Grasping him tight.  He let go again, let go of everything else he’d lost and tipped over the edge, just to hold onto her.

_Not alone.  Not here and not now._

He didn’t fall.  He flew. 

**THE END**


End file.
